


Expect the Unexpected

by smutcity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Melancholy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutcity/pseuds/smutcity
Summary: I never planned to write a/b/o fics but here we are.Elvhen of Arlathan had a little quirk that the modern elves of Thedas show very little sign of. It can be a little frustrating when your system screams at you to get your brains fucked out while the person you're seeing doesn't seem to have that drive whatsoever.





	1. Chapter 1

In the times of Arlathan, with the original Elvhen, immortality gave way to a biological advancement that was peculiar, to say the least. It was evidently formed in an attempt to create diversity, to dethrone an eventual monarchy where one creature held rights and privilege to all.

Alphas were, by their rights, still privileged. For the Elvhen, it was no curiousity that they also happened to be the Evanuris. Their ferocity, determination, their sway over others - it was built into their biological upbringing. They were leaders. Their slights were, unfortunately, gravely overlooked throughout history through masks of potent smell and steadfast lingering fingers.

Not everyone would agree to these standards, however. Betas, who were all together neglected by any account of the conversation, as they weren't on 'extreme opposites'. Omegas, who refused their powers third rate under the excuse they were nothing more than breeding fodder.

One of such was Solas.

Posture was as much a display as scents and physical trademarks, and the elf knew as much. He would carry himself with his head held high, words precise and lyrical, eyes never wavering when his nose attempted to betray him. The Elvhen didn't know what to make of him, first. When he went from sheep to wolf in sheeps clothing, or perhaps a sheep portraying a wolf in sheeps clothing.

But when Solas found omegas who were tired of being marked for solely how they were born, removed their markings, he managed to anger the alphas. In turn, his actions were finally looked at as more serious than the mere bantering of a sheep tired of his duty.

An opposer of the wolves, by posing as one of their own. He became known as Fen'Harel.

Of course, the alphas were bound not to take his work serious as it was. He was an omega. He didn't have the right blood, the right existence to be a threat, and thus they continued their own rites. Threatening and demanding and warring between each other in a fight for the surpreme dominance, as alphas would. And then it was enough. Disasterous effects of hormone addled minds were too much for Solas, who had it with their chaos, destruction, the total lack of care for anything but the size of their proverbial breeding region.

The Evanuris were locked away.

While the creation of the Veil created a drastic change in the way everything responded with magic, spirits, the Fade and everything that was once as common as trickling water, the locking away of alphas created a new problem for the elves entirely. They missed an entire group. Biology's attempt to restore it threw their systems in such a disarray they found themselves surprisingly vulnerable.

Once immortal people were now mortal, and dying rapidly, in a long event of bodies rearranging themselves to force forwards new alphas. Ironically, an attempt to stop a breed from reaching a stand still resulted in the breed mass dying for reproduction.


	2. Chapter 2

Thousands of years later, the elves certainly hadn't recovered from the ordeal. It seemed the breeds' need for survival bred out the entire concept of alphas, betas and omegas. There were ones with  _minor_ hints in their blood stream, remnants of a past, but never significant enough to cause for a great difference in biology. Never more than quirks of personality, a slightly unusual build.

Solas, one of the few longstanding survivors, was as grateful as an omega with significant remorse could feel. Those who had begged him to watch over as they entered the state of Uthenera, hoping to outlast the too-great shift in life, were hidden away as Solas looked to solve the problem without unleashing the old ones (with very pissed off alphas behind the veil, most likely). But with no new  _true_ alphas born, the omega was free to search for an option without significant interruption.

At least, that was the plan.

When his orbs' magic, and thus an extension of his self, merged with the body of a Dalish elf, it set up a link that had been seen as entirely impossible to the ancient elf.

He could  _smell_ him. A deep salt mixed with pine, copper on the tongue, the warmth of a stomach full of warm milk with elfroot. He'd lingered as the man was unconcious, investigated the mark too close for anyone's comfort. It had been the mark, he was certain. He was connected to the Elvhen, and Solas had accidentally caused it.

When he'd awoken, Solas used every trick up his sleeve to fight off the awakening. A firm grip to flesh, like a wolf biting his arm, as he held the mark to close the rift as he would with his own orb. The magic was simple enough. It was Lavellan who was the tricky part.

Then, posturing like a docile elf. Throw off his senses. See where it would lead him.

Lavellan made no indications of being an alpha and it was entirely unnerving, and it drew every ounce of Solas' interest. Not just as an omega with, finally, after decades upon decades, a potential partner that would suit biological needs, but from an investigation standpoint.

Wondered if it had changed his mind. Wondered, more shamefully than he dared admit, if it'd changed his body. Lavellan was certainly more densely built than most of the Dalish he'd seen.

The destruction of Haven made his body restless. Reminded him of just how fragile these new elves were. Even if they'd known each other for a mere month or two, he felt a rush of encouragement towards other actions, and the mark managed to help him towards a place where this  _was_ normal, and this  _was_ common. It made Lavellan entirely more susceptible to freely wandering where Solas felt at home. Where  _all_ of the Elvhen would feel more at home.

But even in the Fade, Lavellan didn't jump to action. A twinge in Solas' gut had encouraged him towards the unthinkable.

He'd kissed the regressed elf.

He'd kissed him, and the venture of tongue reminded him of sharp canines, earthy flavours, the nervous drum of the should-be alpha's heart who should naturally assume position and instead ghosted hands on his sides to avoid jumping to conclusions as he questioned, asked with lips for a second kiss, a third peck.

Maybe, Solas wondered, just maybe, this was a different kind of reaction all together. The reality of his species' future existence in the world he'd created by fault.

But regardless of his attraction, he would never submit to an alpha again.


	3. Chapter 3

Of course, his body would scream obscenities into the entirely wrong direction.

Normally, he had managed to avoid extended exposure to the elf's personal smell by ducking away into a well-aired portion of Skyhold, the scent of fresh plaster surrounding him as he touched up remarkably insignificant events that people ooh-ed and aah-ed over all too much. The smell of bird also helped. If it got too much, he hid away in the downstairs library, or ventured. He knew every nook and cranny in the castle. Finding secluded spots wasn't hard.

Now, he'd been traveling with Lavellan, Sera and Blackwall for a few days, and between tents with no privacy, winds that  _always_ managed to set the man's scent straight in his face and the constant preference to travel in groups, there was no getting away from it.

It was a burden. One that was setting off his own system in the worst way, elevated by decades of having no need to respond. Not that it had one, now, as Lavellan didn't toss him more than an occasional shy look, a helpful grin, indicating no more than that Solas was questioning their kiss in the Fade. Not that Solas was, slowly but surely, amping up the hormones pouring out of every pore in his being.

Not even as Solas' spells decreased in longevity as all his insides felt like doing was squirm around like a cat in heat. Not a far cry from the truth.

Not  _even_ as Sera scrunched up her nose and steered further away from Solas, the latter so mesmerized by the situation to focus on toning it down a little. These elves, or what was left of them, didn't  _have_ heats. They didn't have alphas, betas or omegas. They didn't have intricate courting rituals, no primal pull teasing their senses, no... anything. The more the situation continued, the more he was reminded that these elf-like creatures weren't Elvhen.

"There's a camp further up ah-"

"Dibs on Blackwall!" Sera shouted from his far left, further startling Solas out of his pensive thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

Camp was terrible. Camping was terrible. Being forced to share a tent with Lavellan because Sera insisted on bunking with the Warden was terrible. Lavellan  _still_ not showing any interest whatsoever while he was clearly producing some kind of scent that was effecting his senses was also, indeed, terrible. He was producing all the pheromones. He wasn't responding to them at all.

At first, he'd very casually seated himself besides Lavellan around the evening camp fire, a bowl of Ferelden sludge (perhaps it was porridge, perhaps it was potatoes with corn- the Ferelden recruit had insisted on cooking but could only by Ferelden standards) in his hands. They'd made some small talk. Lavellan had shared some of his goat meat with him. Solas spent his time cleaning his fingers like a savage, using his mouth and tongue. Lavellan had offered a cloth. Solas retreated to their tent early when he actually started cleaning his fingers with them.

Then came the actual sleeping part, and while night time provided a rare bliss - wolven furs being used for blankets, their natural chemistry and the wolves' own hierarchy providing a cancellation effect for the pheromones the Elvhen produced, and part of why he enjoyed carrying them in the past even if it started as a topic of ridicule - it also came with an annoyance.

They were all sharing tents.

More specifically, Solas was sharing tents with Lavellan for the remainder of the night.

Solas was beyond on edge after he'd shucked out of his clothes and covered himself with furs, curling on his own stretched out bedroll. Nights in these parts of Orlais were freezing, but it was hardly that time yet. Still, Solas shivered. His cock was rock hard, pulsing with the beat of his heart, the tip irritably brushing coarse fur. It wasn't the first erection he'd had in six days. It wasn't going to be the last.

His fingers were still sticky. He should've washed them, but the sight of Lavellan next to him, firmly rubbing cloth along the length of his fingers, between the spaces, his lips slightly parted and moist, eyes heavily lidded as he looked down at his fingers and spoke, voice deep, rumble spreading through his own stomach...

The elf hissed. His body was demanding everything from him and Lavellan didn't seem shaken in the slightest. Capturing his bottom lip between his teeth, Solas rolled onto his chest, folded his arms under the bunch of furs under his head. His hips shifted, attempting to seek a comfortable place for his aching length to rest under him. With his nose buried in fur, it was harder to breath, but so much easier to think.

His body was still his body however.

His hips rolled forwards, and smoothly, he ground himself into the bedroll resting underneath him. Lips parted at the pull of skin, breath held lest he'd get too loud. Lavellan's inane obsession with furs was a godsent, now. The muscles in his rear contracted as Solas rolled his hips forwards again, cock trapped between his belly and worn cotton, and for a moment, his mind was on nothing but the blissful sensation of pleasure instead of the numbing throbbing.

Of course the tents' flap opened just as he rolled his hips forwards the third time. Of course Lavellan breathed out a weary sigh as he slipped inside. Solas' body fell flat on the furs. The effort to not groan out in frustration was the realest struggle the Inquisition had ever been through. There was no point denying that he absolutely  _was_ a needy omega hoping to get jumped by Lavellan, but he wasn't about to degrade himself to that point. There was a sense of dignity in fighting off an alpha's approaches, being the calmer of the two, making sense in animalistic needs to be filled. Not in needily presenting himself in the hopes of getting jumped. Not in being at the mercy of his body.

"It was porridge, if you wanted to know," Lavellan spoke as if nothing was up whatsoever, boots set down outside the tent before he stripped out of his tunic. 

"Good to know," came a very aggrivated muffle from the pile of furs.

"You're going to sweat to death under there." There was a tease in his voice. Solas could feel the grin from the back of his head. "Are you that bummed out I stole you away from your paintings?"

There was no way he was that oblivious.

There was no way he could look at Solas, probably blushing all the way down to the mid of his back, probably spilling lust over every word tripping over his tongue, buried in every fur in the vicinity that wasn't still attached to an actually breathing creature, and think he was upset about not being in his rotunda.

Solas turned his head to stare--  _glare_. Definitely glare. At Lavellan stripping out of his breeches, exposing long legs, thick thighs, short braies heavily filled in every area he wanted to set his hands on before those, too, vanished to the floor, natural curiousity killed as Lavellan fidgeted to seek his belongings for something.

"I'm surprised you've seen them," Solas retorted, carefully at first, sought to see if his half truth worked on a tongue thick with need. "I have only hastily seen you pass by on your way to see others."

"You said you wanted space to think our situation over. I offered it."

The older elf had to bite his tongue. It was easier then. He wasn't constantly sporting a boner at the mere sight of an exposed throat. "You've certainly given me a significant amount of space."

"Have you thought about it?" Lavellan asked, and Solas cursed his position as well as his erection for failing to let him look up at the man's face. He could roll onto his back, but history taught him that Solas was not a lucky person.

"We could... work out how this would go. For now, in the Inquisition," he carefully spoke, mostly with his dick, Lavellan shuffling about to lay out his bedroll next to Solas. He buried his face back into the furs used as a pillow, trying to mute the scent that was rapidly filling up the entire tent. A shift of his hips to get some pressure off his cock confirmed slick between his thighs and rear cheeks. Somewhere, Elgar'nan was cackling.

Lavellan slid down to rest besides Solas after throwing down a pillow. He could hear the young elf's even breathing for a short while. Finally, he spoke again. "Does that mean I will sleep under my own furs?"

The bald elf hummed a response. With no idea what he meant, Lavellan reached to grab for the sewn together hides resting on him, tugged - and Solas' fingers rapidly curled around the other end to prevent his skin from being exposed to the air.

He was tired. Exposing himself to Lavellan all night could finally elicit a response. But he was also tired, and it could make him respond. They waited a moment. Then, contrary to the held back response he expected, Lavellan moved in under the furs with him, rolling himself onto Solas' narrow bedroll and pressing flush with his heated skin, trapping himself right under the furs with him. Without noticing, Solas rolled his hips forwards, breathed in sharply at the sensation of skin to skin contact.

"You're very warm," Lavellan spoke softly, his chin resting on an exposed shoulder, his forehead barely touching Solas' ear, what he assumed a cold finger ghosting up along his back.

The next Solas could recall, his arm had freed itself from under the bunched furs and his fingers coiled into Lavellan's hair, lips claiming those of the man besides them in a hungry kiss. The younger man barely had time to respond. His breathless whisper of the others' name turned into a tiny yelp as Solas pulled the man to the floor on his back by his hair. In a fluid motion, Solas slid his leg over Lavellan's stomach, pulled himself up to straddle his lap, then sat up, fingers sliding down the man's shoulders, collarbones, chest to finally rest on his belly.

Lavellan bit his lip. Wolven furs slipped from Solas' back slowly. The orange-yellow light in the tent, fading sun and fabric mixing together on his skin, made pale flesh, mottled with a red flush and stray freckles, almost glow. Yet, he still held himself with an air of pride, looking down at Lavellan with his head raised further than perhaps needed, lips parted, breathing deep and attempting to seek grounding.

Somehow he managed to still look almost regal and  _almost_ composed while straddling his lap. Lavellan's eyes didn't dare stray south. He moved his hands to brush the man's thick thighs, stroked to his hips, but before he could hold them, Solas had already grabbed his wrists. He raised them to his lips, kissed the veins by their center gently.

The elf on the floor swallowed thickly. Solas, above him, looked almost in a trance. The smell was overbearing. Combined with skin-to-skin contact, as well as obvious affectionate feelings between them - more so from Lavellan - he  _couldn't_ keep his mind straight. The younger elf spread his fingers, cupped Solas' face in them, brushed down freckled skin. His thumbs stirred a swollen lower lip, and teeth sought out the digits, grazing the tips as they moved down to rest against either side of the dimple in his chin.

Lavellan firmly pinching together the mages' face by the cheeks seemed to somewhat draw him back to the world he was residing in. He scrunched his brows together, pulled back from the firm hold and reached for his own face, smoothing out over still-felt fingers. Lavellan's face had a nervous smile.

"Ir abelas, vhenan'ara," Solas breathed, his voice cut thick with need. Before he could find proper word, Lavellan interjected.

"Do you actually want this?"

There was silence. Solas looked down at Lavellan, releasing his own face. There always seemed such a gap between himself and these... people who resembled the elvhen that it was difficult to tell what he was referring to. It was more difficult to ask. The situation at hand was not making it any more simplistic. Were he in Elvhenan, it would resound in logic and straightforwardness - Lavellan was an alpha. Solas was an omega in heat. Lavellan would attempt to claim him and Solas would deny out of principle. They would find a way to settle it for both of them, one that would forcibly put the alpha beneath the omega, and would never speak of this again. Should it not be an agreeable circumstance, it'd lead to a few days of severe discomfort at worst.

He'd never met an alpha who didn't want full domination. He'd never met an alpha who didn't jump someone over scent. He was in an entirely different world, an entirely different system, with people who looked like him, and even simple things like mindless sex weren't working by the rules.

"Solas." Lavellan attempted to keep his focus. He sat up, fingers seeking out wolf furs that had fallen to his own legs to draw them up over the mages' shoulders. He nosed under the man's jaw. Lips sought out his neck, gently kissing as he held the pelts in place, waiting for Solas to make up his mind.

The elfs' response came, shaped in hands curling into his hair, drawing him closer to his skin. Lavellan's breath was hot, clammy. Solas shifted his knees under him, leaned his weight into the body under him as he pushed tighter towards lips, eventual teeth grazing his skin. Fingers curled into tight fists. Lavellan kissed his way down, following the column of neck, and when he met the junction where neck met shoulder, Solas' strained gasp made him bury tighter into it. Jaws parted wide, and Lavellan sucked the skin tight between his lips, nose buried straight into a pulse point in his neck. He could feel Solas' heart racing. The vague aching he'd been feeling was overwhelmed by Solas' personal scent.

The deep groan that rumbled Lavellan's chest that followed made Solas' heart flutter with nostalgia. Briefly, the young elf shook his marked hand as it throbbed with wild abandon. The hand then swiftly came down on Solas' ass with an audible smack of skin to skin, fingers burying tight into supple flesh.

The bald elf let out a low growl as a warning. Teeth sought out Lavellan's own neck, grazed the skin just beneath his ear. Solas rolled forwards his hips and finally feeling contact with skin that wasn't his own, finally finding foreign heat and pressure on the underside of his throbbing length, was a blessing. When slender hips rolled forwards again, Lavellan drew back from Solas' neck, gasped sharply. Slender fingers sought purchase on his back and blunt nails scratching skin. The older man had pushed onto his toes in his need for friction and eagerly rocked his hips, stroking his own weeping length between a pale, taut belly and his partners' toned abs.

"You smell so good." Words breathed to his ear shamelessly. Solas' motions slowed to a halt. He chuckled, the ending snort causing a quirk of Lavellan's lips.

"As do you," Solas retorted quietly. A conversation they could never have lingered in the air. The mage lowered to his knees, lips briefly seeking out Lavellan's in a chaste kiss. With knowledge of forgotten traits in mind, he re-settled first one, then the other knee between his tent-partners' thighs, no shame or knowledge of ranking, positioning in the should-be elf's mind of his natural positioning. They kissed, again briefly, as Solas leaned more heavily forwards, encouragement enough for Lavellan to slowly let himself rest on his back.

Soft pecks started to linger. Before long, Solas could feel and taste salty, musky skin on his tongue, mixed with meat and porridge as Lavellan teased his questing tongue entering parted lips. His hips chanced a roll forwards again to seek friction against Lavellan's body.

The Inquisitors' body shifted and soon after, distracted with lips, warmth, smells, the ridiculousness of the entire situation, Solas was pinned to his back instead. He tried to interject, but Lavellan's index finger rested to his lips, hushing him, strange pull and pulse of the Fade from his palm more effective than the finger itself. The man sat back as Solas had earlier. His own cock brushed the cheek of the man's ass as he leaned back. With no modesty in the slightest, the mages' eyes traveled down his partners' well trained body, soon bit his lip as they landed on an erect cock that was undeniably as alpha as the scents numbing even the Blackwall's roaring laughter in the distance - lengthy, thick, bulbous tip barely peeking from stretched foreskin and the start of swelling at the base.

The smug smirk on Lavellan's face as he rose his unmarked hand to show a tiny bottle, contents guessable and hopefully not drenched in the red tonic that'd unmistakenly been in there before, made him furrow his brows a bit.

"You _were_ expecting this?"

Lavellan's throathy chuckle made his cock throb. Part of him hoped it was his addled state that made him this happy about Lavellan seeming a little bit closer to the elvhen than others had appeared.

"You really hadn't noticed I was downwind of you the entire trip?"

Maybe he'd overestimated regression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last (?) chapter is coming up, I was worried I'd lose attention and subsequently everything I'd typed out so I threw everything I'd already finished into one fic.


End file.
